Almsot to July

There is something liberating about being caught in a spring thunderstorm. Especially as one strides onto dry ground, where everyone without the experience of a rain kissed afternoon look on as shoes squeak and slid on tiled flooring. Where tranquility is shattered by slick rubber and an unabashed smile. Oh Ode of Odes, what would the tongue of Shakespeare wag out onto the hearkening ear of royalty long since past, if he had soggy afternoon shoes.